Election time begins as the clock strikes twelve
Walking tailored suits and ruby dresses start to delve
Into the polls, where the green ballot box awaits
Diamond rings and manicured nails drop in bills to sate
The politician-shaped money bags ready to devour
The meat clean off the bone of democracy, stripped of its power
Lights shut off, polls closing as the clock strikes eight
Huddling tattered rags lie outside, subject to golden fate
The green ballot box, locked to them by rusting chains
Left alone with the stars, from hope they refrain
To receive any change, they must mint their voice
But stripped of green and stripped of choice
Little do they know, the kings silently grow in debt
Billed for despair and tragedy with the price yet to be set